I Reincarnated as My Favorite Villainess Saint (Magic Marza), So I’ll Use Game Knowledge to Smash Every Doom Flag! - Chapter 9

My memories after leaving the Ansbach estate are terribly hazy.

The monotonous rocking of the carriage lulls my consciousness like a lullaby. My eyelids feel as heavy as lead. The price of using the Saint’s power, no doubt my body is freezing to the core, and even moving a finger feels like a chore.

(I can’t take this anymore. I want to go home. I want to sleep.)

Inside my head, my former corporate drone self whines on repeat. I want to turn this carriage around right now, head straight back to Lydia’s mansion, and collapse into my warm bed like a lump of mud.

But I can’t. If I rest now, all my efforts tonight, Claude’s trust, might vanish like foam on water. Barely clinging to consciousness, I force myself to think about my next target.

Rainer von Weit, heir to the Frontier Count. The “Withering Blight” consuming his lands.

According to my game knowledge, it isn’t a curse on people, it’s a curse on the land itself. Fundamentally different from Elise’s curse.

The real problem lies in Rainer’s own actions. So desperate to save his people, he’s been converting his own life force into magic energy, trying to purify the vast lands single-handedly. That reckless self-sacrifice is eating him alive from the inside. His body has become the very epicenter of the curse.

Eventually, the carriage stops in front of a sturdy, no-frills lodging, slightly removed from the aristocratic district’s glamour.

When the door opens, he’s there arms crossed, leaning against the wall, waiting for me.

The same stern expression as at the soirée. But I don’t miss the flicker of poorly concealed agitation in his amber eyes.

“You actually came.”

He sizes me up with a scrutinizing gaze before jerking his chin toward the interior, signaling me to enter.

The room I’m led into is as practical and devoid of unnecessary decoration as the man himself—just a table, a few chairs, and a map of his territory hanging on the wall. Nothing more.

He gestures for me to sit, but I shake my head. If I sit now, I might never stand again.

“Saintess,” Rainer cuts straight to the point. “What exactly do you know? How do you know about the Withering Blight?”

“It’s not that I know.”

Slowly, I lift my face and meet his gaze head-on.

“I see. You. And your homeland.”

I lay on the mystique, playing the part of the Saintess. My exhaustion-induced haze might actually be helping, my expression is probably so devoid of humanity right now that I look like a doll.

Swaying slightly, I take a step toward him. My palm presses lightly against the hard plating of his chest. I feel him stiffen, hear the sharp intake of breath.

“Your body is at its limit.”

At my words, Rainer’s shoulders tremble faintly.

“Your devotion to your people is nobler than any other’s. But if you wither away like a dead tree, it will all be for nothing.”

“H-how do you?”

His voice wavers. No one should know about his limits yet here I am, pinpointing them with terrifying accuracy.

“That body of yours has become the very heart of the blight. What I must purify is that twisted self-sacrifice festering inside you.”

I withdraw my hand and deliver my verdict.

For a long moment, Rainer is silent. His fists clench, as if chewing on his own powerlessness. Finally, he lifts his head, resolve hardening in his eyes.

“Fine. I’ll trust you. But if you can’t save my people.”

“I won’t insult you with empty reassurances.”

I cut him off.

“Just believe in me.”

With the arrogance befitting a villainess Saint yet with undeniable force.

I raise my trembling arm. The second activation of the Saint’s authority. A wave of dizziness crashes over me as more life force is siphoned from my already hollow body.

“Sanctuary Pierce!”

The incantation bleaches my vision white. Unlike with Claude, the resistance is violent like wrestling a wild stallion. And when I open my eyes again. I’m standing on a ruined wasteland.

The sky is choked with crimson-black clouds. A dry wind kicks up swirling dust. Withered trees stand like gravestones, and cracked earth stretches endlessly. A desiccated wilderness, utterly different from the damp cavern of Elise’s psyche, a landscape of pure despair.

This is Rainer’s heart. A reflection of his homeland.

Then, a distant rumble from beyond the horizon.

A massive shadow lumbers closer. A colossal golem, cobbled together from deadwood, cracked boulders, and parched earth. The embodiment of the land’s fury and his despair.

Staring up at its towering, savage form, I murmur blankly:

“So, this is my next opponent.”

The villainess Saint’s second battle quietly begins.